Bentley to the Rescue
by LadyDivine91
Summary: When Crowley flubs an opportunity to tell Aziraphale how he feels, his car takes over. But it also doesn't know how to quit when it's ahead … Aziraphale x Crowley


Lunch had been lovely.

Positively lovely.

Aziraphale in particular had been overjoyed with the meal he ate, the champagne they drank, the company he kept.

All very lovely.

And afterwards, he and Crowley walked and talked and laughed and reminisced, pushing away the recent unpleasantness by recounting better times, similar lunch dates, favorite symphonic performances, anything that sprang to mind. They also contemplated hopes for the future – movies Crowley looked forward to seeing, books Aziraphale looked forward to reading, the latest rendition of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ coming to Piccadilly that they planned on attending together. They discussed each topic with the fervor of people who thought they may not live to see tomorrow.

And the economy of those who still may not.

But by the time they pull up in front of Aziraphale's shop, both angel and demon have gone silent. It's not the comfortable silence they've cultivated over centuries of familiarity with one another. It's a tense silence, a pregnant silence. A silence that begs the question:

"So … what now?"

Aziraphale asks it, looking to Crowley with wide, blue eyes searching not just for _this_ answer, but for _all_ the answers.

And that weighs heavy on the demon's shoulders.

Considering the events of the past few days - the past eleven years! - Crowley can honestly say he didn't think they'd get this far. Every minute that went by, he expected things to end, even if just for them.

Just for _him_.

But here they are, together in Crowley's car, looking forward to tomorrow. The world hasn't burnt up. They haven't been executed. They're not even in custody.

They're _free_.

For now.

So yes – what do they do?

Crowley chuckles lightly. "I really don't know," he admits.

"Seems strange, doesn't it?" Aziraphale glances out the windshield at life continuing on in Soho, humans who have no clue how close they came to becoming a massive meat stew going about with their day to day – meeting for dinner, hugging on the sidewalk, driving their cars, peeking into his own shop window, shrugging and moving on. "Knowing we don't have to answer to anyone but ourselves?"

_Ourselves_. That brings things back to the question at hand – a question that should be easy to answer seeing as everything that's happened between them, the catalyst to why Crowley could stop time long enough for Adam to defeat Satan and save the world, hinged on Aziraphale finally acknowledging that single thing.

They were own their own side.

The two of them – _together_.

But now that they're in no danger of discorporation … or _elimination_ … Crowley doesn't know how that fits in the context of their future.

"I suspect we go on, yes? Keep doing what we've been doing. With a little less supervision, of course."

"And that is …?"

Aziraphale is fishing. Crowley knows that. He also doesn't know what he's within his power to offer. What Aziraphale _wants_. Aziraphale has already burned him once, so to speak.

What if Crowley isn't what he wants? Not the way Crowley wants Aziraphale?

There's an easy way to find out, of course.

Why is he too much of a flippin' coward to ask?

"You'll run your bookshop," Crowley explains. "I'll take care of my business. I'll stop by from time to time or you can come visit. It'll be good. Normal, even. When's the last time we've had normal then, eh?"

"Yes," Aziraphale says. "Normal. Sounds … sounds grand … actually."

It didn't sound grand. But the fact that Aziraphale's tone has gone solemn doesn't seem to tip Crowley off.

But it tips _someone_ off. Someone who's been watching these two fools play this game of romantic Pong since the entirety of their employ. Someone who's been waiting for a moment much like this, who has witnessed several with high hopes to have them unravel at the last moment.

Someone who is equally tipped as _ticked_.

"So, I'll see you around then?" Crowley asks.

Aziraphale nods. "I … I suppose so." But when Aziraphale should be opening the door and sliding out, he turns to Crowley instead.

"Crowley? There's something I need to tell you. Something … important."

Crowley shifts in his seat to face Aziraphale. "Okay?"

"I … well, I …"

Crowley takes off his glasses and tosses them in the back seat. "Yes?"

"The truth is …" Aziraphale glances about nervously – not afraid someone will see Crowley's eyes. No one could notice them from here. But afraid Crowley will see everything Aziraphale is about to say in his.

Afraid he'll laugh at him. Reject him before the words come out.

"You see, I …"

"You _what_, Aziraphale? Spit it out."

Crowley doesn't sound impatient. He sounds anxious, assuming that what Aziraphale has on his mind is bad news. He did say it was important, after all. So Aziraphale can't backpedal. He has to get this out, no matter the outcome.

Aziraphale takes a deep breath. He doesn't particularly need it, but he takes it anyway. If there's anything in the air that can give him a boost of courage, he hopes it comes to him. Shoot! He should have invited Crowley inside for drinks! Courage in an amber bottle would be quite welcome right now. There's a bottle of wine in the back seat. They bought it at The Ritz. He could grab it, open it, and chug it down. Then he wouldn't struggle to get the words out. They'd be falling over themselves to trip off his tongue and stumble drunkenly to Crowley's ears!

But no. With supernatural beings, as with humans, drunken confessions of love are tactless and not at all binding in court of law.

"I love you," he says, doing his best to look in Crowley's blank eyes when he does, the heat rising to his cheeks fighting to bring his gaze down.

"You're an angel," Crowley points out after a brief silence. "You love everybody. It's in the job description."

"I'm _in_ love with you," Aziraphale clarifies. "I've been in love with you for the longest time. And before I leave this car and risk you going off to tend to business and not returning for a decade, or napping for who knows how long, I need you to know that."

"Oh." Crowley's eyes pop with surprise while his brain whirls to come up with an appropriate response. There is one. It's there on the tip of his tongue. It's been waiting there for centuries to make its grand entrance. But since Crowley is a more eloquent demon in his head than he is in practice, his grand confession of love never sees the light of day. What he says instead is: "Okay. Thanks."

Aziraphale nods. "Well. So long as you know … I guess." He reaches for the door handle and pushes, but upsettingly, the door doesn't open. He wiggles it, gives the door a shove. This time, not only does it not open, it resists.

"What's wrong?" Crowley asks.

"The door …" Aziraphale wiggles the handle more vigorously, shoves a bit more violently. "It won't open."

"That one sticks sometimes. You may want to miracle out."

"Okay." Aziraphale snaps his fingers, but nothing happens. He snaps again, then again, looking to Crowley with concern. "I can't."

"Did Heaven take away your powers?"

"I don't think so." Aziraphale looks out the window in the direction of his shop. He waits for an inconspicuous moment, then snaps his fingers. The front doors fly open, to the delight of a few stragglers peeking in the windows, but slam shut before they can make it inside. "No. Still have them. How about you?"

"Let me check." Crowley snaps his fingers. A man on the corner ahead of them, talking up a young lady who looks uncomfortable by his presence, loses his trousers. They rip off his body, tumble a short distance away, then burst into flames, attracting the attention of an officer nearby and giving the lady a chance to escape. "Nope. Still got mine. Wait a minute …" He tries to open his door. He puts all his weight against it and shoves, but it doesn't budge. He snaps his fingers over and over, but the door doesn't open. The radio clicks on. Aziraphale assumes Crowley did it, to test his powers, but the demon's face twists and he smacks a hand to his forehead. "_Shit_!"

A slow, romantic melody begins to play:

_Ooh__  
__Ooh, take it, take it all away_

"What's the matter?" Aziraphale asks.

"It's the car!" Crowley growls. He switches the radio off, but it comes back on.

_Ooh__  
__Ooh, take my breath away _

He keeps turning it off, but it keeps coming on again, playing a song that Crowley obviously doesn't want to listen to.

"How can the car …?"

"It's a demon owned car, isn't it? It's only natural that it picked up a few things along the way."

_Ooh__  
__Ooh, you-ou-ou-ou take my breath away_

Crowley switches the radio off for the umpteenth time and puts both hands over the dial, but that doesn't stop it from coming on. In desperation, he plants his hands over the speakers to dull the volume, but even Aziraphale knows that won't work. Eventually, Crowley slumps in his seat, puts his hands over his face, and surrenders.

_Look into my eyes and you'll see I'm the only one__  
__You've captured my love, stolen my heart, changed my life__  
__Every time you make a move, you destroy my mind__  
__And the way you touch, I lose control and shiver deep inside_

Sympathetic to Crowley's dilemma, Aziraphale tries for himself to switch the radio off, but it doesn't stay off. "Why is your car playing this song?"

"How the Devil should I know?" Crowley lies. "It's a Queen song. It likes to play Queen songs. Every car does."

_You can reduce me to tears with a single sigh__  
__Every breath that you take, any sound that you make__  
__Is a whisper in my ear__  
__I could give up all my life for just one kiss__  
__I would surely die if you dismiss me from your love_

Aziraphale starts focusing on the lyrics halfway through the second verse, his eyes fixed on the radio's face to avoid looking at Crowley's. But he can't help himself. He peeks over, curious about Crowley's reaction, which he can't really see with Crowley's hands covering his face. That aside, Crowley's Bentley is his pride and joy. He loves it more than anything. It's an extension of him, in a way.

So if the Bentley is playing this song and needs it to be heard, it's more than simply the shenanigans of a demonic car.

And this is more than a pretty song.

_So please don't go__  
__Don't leave me here all by myself__  
__I get ever so lonely from time to time__  
__I will find you anywhere you go__  
__I'll be right behind you __  
__Right until the ends of the earth __  
__I'll get no sleep till I find you __  
__And tell you that you just ..._

There's something so poignant about the lyrics. So fitting. He might have chosen this song himself to express his feelings if he knew it existed, if he did that sort of thing. Aziraphale can't discount the fact that Crowley asked him to run away with him, how passionately he'd argued that they were friends, had been friends for over 6000 years. How ever Aziraphale saw their relationship, in whatever terms he used, they were at least friends. That should be of some comfort.

And it is.

Some.

_I will find you anywhere you go __  
__Right until the ends of the earth __  
__I'll get no sleep till I find you __  
__To tell you when I've found you …_

The radio clicks off. The music disappears. And behind his hands, Crowley snickers. They slide down his face and he glares at the dashboard. "Well? Drop the other shoe, will you?" He stares at the radio and waits. When nothing happens, he scoffs. "No. You expect me to say it then, hmm? Cheeky bastard."

"Say what? What … what is it leaving out?" Aziraphale looks at Crowley, then at the radio, as if the car might outright say.

Crowley rolls his head Aziraphale's way, gazing at him sadly, fondly. "I love you."

Aziraphale's brows lift. "Is that the end of the verse?"

"Yes."

"But … do you?"

"Yes."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Since … since when?" Aziraphale asks, scooting excitedly closer. "Oh … you don't need to answer that if you don't want to."

Crowley smiles. "Since you uttered the magical words _I gave it away_."

"Really?"

"Yes, angel. Really."

"Wow. That's, uh … that's a long time."

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Aziraphale finds himself at a loss as to how to proceed. This seems like a classic _lean in for a kiss_ moment, but there's too much tension hanging in the air. An impromptu kiss may or may not relieve that. He's never kissed Crowley before. He doesn't want it tainted by mixed signals and bad timing. He's willing to let Crowley take the lead on that one. Who knows? Kissing may not even be something he enjoys. So instead, Aziraphale turns to the car's dash and asks in a teasing tone, "Is that all _you_ wanted to say, Bentley?"

The car stays silent, but for only a second. The dial on the radio turns left and right, tuning into different stations, pausing at one, and then moving on. It stops at last on a song Aziraphale has never heard before, but which Crowley seems to know after a single beat since he launches for the dial, wrestling harder this time to try and change the station before the lyrics start.

"No, no, no! That's enough now! You've had your say!" Crowley argues. But the Bentley doesn't feel the same. The dial pops off and the song remains, it's steady, provocative beat thumping hard, shaking the seats, and all Crowley can do is drop his head back, put his hands back over his face, groan loudly, and suffer.

_I wanna fuck you like an animal …_


End file.
